Located in the small countryside town of Gross Lüben, Germany, Meerglas-Fahrräder (Meerglas Frameworks) is Thomas Becker’s award-winning fabrication operation that specializes in stunning custom randonneuring, touring, gravel, and road racing bikes. With a dedication to artisan construction methods, Meerglas‘ bicycles often take on a classic appearance with subtly modern details and technologies.

In this Meerglas Frameworks visit, Josh documents Tom’s historic workshop space and syncs up with the builder for an interview spanning many topics, including moving his family and business out of Berlin, where he finds inspiration, his occasional unorthodox economics, and more…

To Ride, Or Not

As media, the idea of taking an extended bike ride while traveling to cover events is always aspirational, yet it hardly ever becomes a reality. We usually arrive at the destination early, looking to get a head start on documenting bikes or event preparations, and stay up late writing stories and recaps. When it’s all done, getting home to family and back to regular sleep schedules becomes a top priority.

But at last year’s Bespoked Dresden, some good friends (Florian of Fern, Tine from Gramm Tourpacking, and Laurent and Marie from Avalanche) came together for a memorable ride. Our route was from Berlin to Gross Lüben, where Tom Becker of Meerglas Frameworks lives and works in a wonderful historic property. Tom once shared a workshop with Flo and Tine in Berlin, and the three have remained close even now that Tom lives outside the city.

Like the previous year, Florian was gracious enough to offer me a couch to crash on in Berlin before heading to Dresden for the bike show. Only this time, I had commissioned a bike from him that, along with a sibling bike made for himself, were show builds in the joint Fern/Gramm Bespoked booth. We had to give them a proper shakedown on German soil before I returned home.

Laurent and Marie, whom I had visited just a few months earlier, also stayed around for a few days before returning to their home in Paris. Rather than spend their free day in the city, they joined us on the trek to Tom’s place in the countryside.

Our route was perfectly European. Or, at least it was to this American. We kicked things off by departing from Flo and Tine’s workshop, riding through Berlin to the main train station, Hauptbahnhof, and then to the small town of Breddin. The full 130km ride from Flo’s workshop to Tom’s is certainly doable in a day, but hopping on a train to essentially cut the distance in half gave us extra time to explore the small towns along the route, stop for coffee, pastries, and sausages, and generally enjoy each others company rather than hammering for seven hours.

A wild sight, my name on a property along the route

Meerglas Bauernhof

We arrived in Gross Lüben with about 30 minutes of daylight to spare. Late in October, the crisp air and changing leaves indicated that colder weather was imminent. We were experiencing the last days of fall and a close to many folks’ riding season. Coming off the high from hustling at the Bespoked show just days before, it was a special time to get out of the “work” mindset and connect with like-minded humans.

I quickly got to work documenting Tom’s workshop and property. Situated on a large piece of land just minutes from the town center, Tom’s property contains multiple outbuildings, including his workshop and a large barn, in addition to primary living space.

The rear portion is a small farm with livestock and gardens. It’s cozy and bucolic, evoking feelings of years past with old brick construction, wood-fired heating, and Tom’s creative touches everywhere.

Tom is using his inviting property to host an annual rando-centric Fenderfest event. Primarily an excuse for folks to ride out into the German countryside and gather around a shared passion for classic touring bikes and the sheets of metal that cover their tires in inclement weather, it’s a riff on JP Weigle’s French Fender Day. The inaugural kickoff took place last year and is slated to go down again in 2025. You can learn more about it on Tom’s website.

Award Produce

While I was running around trying to capture the last bits of light on the property, Tine, Marie, and others made dinner for the evening from the Bespoked Awards won by Meerglas, Fern, and Avalanche. Yes, these vegetables are their awards.

The original Bespoked Award trophies were lost in transit. As a last-minute substitute, the event organizers went to a local market to procure a selection of vegetables and gourds, which were ceremoniously given out to winners at the Dresden airport venue. This should be no surprise if you know or have read showrunner Petor Georgallou’s work.

Made into a delicious soup, the eclectic culinary medley came to represent how these special occasions bring people from all over the world together and the painstakingly hard work everyone puts in to make it all happen.

Meerglas Fahrräder

The first times I saw Tom’s bikes – initially on the internet and then in person at his 2023 Bespoked booth – I assumed a much older person built them. My perception was for no other reason than many framebuilders have moved away from classic designs and mechanical components, and those left doing things in an old-school way are, well, getting a little older.

As a fellow Gen-Xer, I consider Tom relatively young, and it’s refreshing to see him and other young folks building beautiful bikes with traditional methods rather than getting caught up with incorporating modern technologies.

Tom’s 2024 Bespoked Fern-inspired Gravel Touring Bike (left); Tom’s 2023 Bespoked Randonneur (right)

Both are award winners

Tom chose “Meerglas” for his bike brand because of the term’s connection to his methodology. Meerglas refers to sea glass found in large bodies of water that gets polished over time as it comes into contact with rocks and sand. This is the approach Tom takes to bike fabrication – building frames and components from scratch, often with lugs he makes himself in order to achieve modern geometries and varied tubing not available with vintage lug designs. He also fabricates custom racks, forks, lighting solutions, and anything else his customers might desire.

During the years I’ve known Tom, we’ve discussed his unique approach to making bikes for a living.  After our visit, we connected again to summarize some of our conversations. Let’s dive into our interview below…

Tom Becker Interview

Tell us a little about your background. How did you find your way to making bikes for a living?

I came to cycling relatively late. As a child and teenager, I rode my bike to school, but I really immersed myself in it during my studies when I was considering dropping out. Even back then, I was fascinated by bicycle construction – during my mechanical engineering coursework, I wrote papers on brazing and frame building in mass production.

I bought my first road bike, an old Motobécane from the 1980s, in 2005/2006. That was in Berlin during the singlespeed and fixie boom, which I fully embraced. After dropping out of university, I didn’t know what to do next. Then I had a key moment: in Denmark, on the beach, I found a piece of sea glass – and in that instant, I knew I wanted to build bicycle frames.

This decision came during a phase that would probably be called a quarter-life crisis today. I had no idea what to do with myself, applied for apprenticeships as a carpenter and blacksmith, but ultimately, I dove deeper into frame building. My journey started with training as a bicycle mechanic, followed by earning my master certification. In between, my girlfriend and I went on a world tour – we cycled from Berlin to Saigon.

After that, I became self-employed and started building bicycle frames.

Who did you learn from? Did/do you make art or other crafts than building bikes?

I did my training as a bicycle mechanic in Berlin at a company that built tandems and cargo bikes and had its own prototype department. There was a large workshop with a lathe, milling machine, welding equipment, and brazing torches – an ideal place to learn both the craft and the mechanics.

After my training and our world tour, I completed my master certification in Germany because it’s required here to work independently as a bicycle mechanic. The master course lasted six months and included a two-week framebuilding course with Dietmar Hertel – that’s where I built my first frame. Everything else, I taught myself through trial and error.

What is your background as a cyclist and with adjacent activities? Did you skate as Flo did back in the day?

As I mentioned, I always used bicycles as a means of transportation, not as sports equipment. I was more into running – in school and later as a jogger. Road cycling only became part of my life during my studies and training. In 2009, I rode my first brevet, met Flo, and got more involved in the scene.

I didn’t have a family background in cycling, but my great-grandfather was a road cyclist and even rode the Peace Race. I still have his old Diamant racing bike from the 1930s – maybe this passion skipped a generation and landed with me.

Where do you find inspiration for the bikes you are making today? What other builders do you look up to?

My biggest influences in frame building are René Herse and Alex Singer. But what originally drew me into frame building were the bikes from Sascha White (Vanilla Cycles) and Ulrich Vogel (Vogel Rahmenbau). I only discovered René Herse and Alex Singer later.

Sascha White was the first to share truly impressive photos of his bikes online – that inspired many people, including me. Later, MAP Cycles, Peter Weigle, Brian Chapman, and Jan Heine’s book Golden Age of Bicycles also had a big impact on me.

Flo also influenced me a lot. We shared a workshop for a long time, and when you work intensively with someone, some things inevitably rub off.

How did you decide to primarily make bikes for touring and randonneuring?

I never really rode classic road bikes – racing with others was never my thing. I always preferred long-distance rides, brevets, and that’s exactly what makes the classic randonneur the most beautiful machine in the world for me.

Moving from the city to the country, have there been changes in how and what you are making?

Moving to the countryside hasn’t changed what I build – that’s determined by my orders. But it has changed how I work.

In 2019, we had to leave Berlin. My girlfriend was pregnant with our second child, and our 50-square-meter apartment in Friedrichshain became too small. Finding an affordable alternative in Berlin was impossible, so we moved back to our old home, Prignitz.

That was an incredibly stressful time: moving, setting up the workshop, and finishing customer orders led to complete burnout. I’ve struggled with depression for a long time, and this period pushed me over the edge. I spent a long time in therapy, sometimes in psychiatric care, and was unable to work for almost three years.

Since then, my approach to work has changed: I work healthier – not 70-hour weeks anymore, but trying to stick to 40 hours, spending time with my family, riding my bike. Prices have increased, and I developed a second brand to work more sustainably. The journey isn’t over yet, but depression has taught me to work differently.

Tell us about the special raw steel randonneur bike I photographed at your shop that was also at Bespoked…

I built the unpainted silver randonneur specifically for Bespoked 2024. I wanted to showcase a bike that represents my work in its purest form—without paint, so that every detail of the brazing, craftsmanship, and handmade components remains visible.

The bike is almost entirely equipped with René Herse components because I trust their quality. I love the aesthetics and function of these parts – they’re a perfect match for a classic randonneur. The bike also features custom-made racks that I brazed to fit precisely.

Building it was a challenge: I only had ten days, so I had to work 12 to 14 hours a day in the workshop. It was physically and mentally exhausting, but I really wanted to finish it in time for the show.

I wanted Bicycle Quarterly to test it because I was curious about how it would perform in a professional review. But if I were designing a bike specifically for that test, I would do some things differently – more lightweight construction, an adjusted geometry, and even more refined details. So, there are already plans to rebuild and refine this bike.

Describe your shop and elaborate on moving to the countryside to work…

My workshop is about 50–60 square meters – it used to be a pigsty, then a blacksmith’s shop, then a Trabant garage. I renovated everything from scratch: poured a concrete floor, built walls, installed electricity, and set up compressed air lines.

Working in the countryside is different from Berlin. There, I shared a workshop with Flo – we could discuss problems and find solutions together. Here, I work alone most of the time, which slows things down but also brings peace.

Customers still come to visit – back in Berlin, they traveled to see me, and we made sure to choose a location with good train connections to make that possible.

When we were talking in your shop, you mentioned that if you had your way, you would charge people whatever they could afford for bikes. This struck me as quite the punk rock mindset rather than the capitalist approach most would take when running a business. Can you elaborate on this?

When you look closely at how the world works, you inevitably realize that capitalism is efficient but not necessarily fair. It doesn’t always reward people who contribute the most to society, but rather those who are economically successful – often regardless of whether their work has a positive impact.

I, too, have to operate within this system. I have to pay rent, buy materials, maintain my machines, and earn a living. But at the same time, I see that not everyone who deserves a custom bicycle can afford one. High-quality frames, hand-brazed constructions, perfectly tuned components – these are luxury goods that are usually only accessible to people with higher incomes. But why should someone working as a caregiver or educator, doing socially essential but poorly paid work, be excluded from this kind of craftsmanship?

That’s why I’ve explored alternative pricing models. One idea that fascinates me is income-based pricing: those who earn more pay more, while those who earn less pay less. This way, the price of a bike would be based on the financial situation of the buyer rather than rigid, capitalistic calculations.

I’ve already applied this concept in one case: a customer of mine, Ralf, is a caregiver. He’s passionate about bicycles and has dreamed of a custom randonneur for years, but with his salary, a handmade bike costing €14,000 was completely unrealistic. I knew he would truly appreciate the bike, not as a status symbol but as a tool for his passion. So, I made him a custom offer – a price he could afford.

Of course, I can’t do this for every customer because I also have to stay financially viable. But if more businesses across different industries adopted similar models occasionally, it could contribute to a fairer society in the long run.

Alternative pricing models might seem utopian. But utopias are important – they give us direction and help us imagine a world beyond the limits of the current system.

I want to express my gratitude to Tom, Florian, Tine, Marie, Laurent, and everyone else who has made my trips to Europe so impactful and meaningful over the years. I am forever grateful for your friendship and generous hospitality!